


we're walking lines in parallel

by afterplaidshirtdays



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s07e06 Beyond the Wall, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterplaidshirtdays/pseuds/afterplaidshirtdays
Summary: She ought to leave. Let him sleep since she knows he needs it, but the power of his gaze is too much to ignore, the grip of his hand too resolute.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 79





	we're walking lines in parallel

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this fandom, or at least publishing something in it. This is a small bit as I'm trying my hand at writing again and it's a scenario I've wondered about ever since I saw this episode. It's a different take on how the scene in Jon's room could've continued.
> 
> Title comes from "Summer Years" by Death Cab for Cutie

His hand holds hers with a strength she’s surprised in. He only just barely survived and she’s heard from Davos that his strength is tepid at best. But Jon holds onto her hand tighter, a small pressure she’s sure she feels in the depths of her heart.

She ought to leave. Let him sleep since she knows he needs it, but the power of his gaze is too much to ignore, the grip of his hand too resolute.

Dany’s eyes meet his again, his mouth open in a sort of lovely cusp of words before he shuts it, his hand gripping hers even tighter, her eyes going to their joined hands.

She clears her throat, trying not to sound so scratchy from the tears she shed over her sweet boy Viserion and the man lying before her. Every inch of her has felt drained over the past twelve hours, but something in his touch makes her feel awake, more alive.

“This can’t happen,” she says simply, a near whisper, eyes traveling up his chest to his eyes.

Jon’s hand slackens a bit in her hold but then his finger touches the inside of her wrist, a vaguely intimate gesture she can’t decipher. “What?”

Her eyes alight and she almost lets out a smile. This game they play finally feels more real, probably because she could've lost him. Or because he seems less inclined now to ignore how deep he gazes at her. Eyes pointed, she runs her thumb over his knuckles again, soft as a feather, and the gentleness causes him to clear his throat.

“Why not?” he asks in his divine northern burr. The roughness of it from lack of use and the strain on him the past few days come back to her in full force, and with it the reality that they’re facing.

“I can’t have your fealty if you only give it because of,” she starts, but falters. Her eyes slide up to his and he looks chiseled from a work of art. His hair finally free from his bun, black strands splayed across his pillow.

“A great many men have lusted for me,” Daenerys says. His eyes slightly narrow and his mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but she continues. “And a great many have underestimated me. I don’t want my face to be the reason the North bends the knee.”

Jon tries to sit up, but winces at once. Dany’s hand immediately goes to his chest to stop him from moving any further. Cheeks burning, she pulls away when he sits back, but not before he grabs her other hand in his. If she were to ponder their position, she’d see herself a flushing maiden.

Their eyes meet again and she feels her pulse quicken at his gaze. His dark eyes feel like pools of blackness, like they hold secrets and bonds forever forged. 

“I bend the knee because of your heart,” he says softly. "You came. For me and my men."

Her eyes threaten to well, but he begins to move forward again, his hand moving toward her cheek, and the movement is so sudden, so gentle, that she stays still. She hasn’t met any other man quite like him and it’s taken her many moons to try and understand his actions, his motivation. Is it his honor that keeps him so good? She hope he sees that in her, too.

Jon’s thumb grazes her cheek, and she can feel the roughness of his skin. He’s clearly someone who works with his hands and that sends a thrill up her spine. Her cheek feels like fire under his touch, and she craves that heat, that ardent steadiness.

Daenerys shouldn’t do it. She is above all his queen, his ally in this great war. There are many reasons she shouldn’t, many reasons she should leave his quarters and only refer to him as her warden from now on.

Those reasons don’t seem to matter as much when his face is next to hers, the heat of his breath washing over her and the skin on her bones tingling with desire. 

The moment her mouth finds his, it feels like an explosion of stars. It’s as thrilling as she’d thought it would be all those months on Dragonstone. The darkness of his gaze in the cave, the way his eyes always sought hers during feasts. It’s better than that, the intensity of their kiss better than every sweet wine she’s ever tasted. The fire in her belly rages, her nose bumping against his, their hands properly still entwined until she brings one up to move through his hair.

He lets out a small moan and she pulls back suddenly, afraid of hurting him.

His eyes black and wanting, Daenerys smiles small when she realizes his moan wasn’t from pain.

Jon moves his hand back to her cheek, thumb moving across her bottom lip. There’s a blackness in his eyes, a longing she knows is mirrored in her own.

“You need to rest,” she murmurs, voice hoarse but her mouth missing his. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, slightly embarrassed.

Though he appears to desire the opposite, he nods reluctantly, hand lowering to her jaw before retreating from her entirely, perhaps thinking through the ramifications running through her own mind. A chill breezes through the room and she feels the coldness of the room for the first time since he awoke. Her body is still on fire, but the kind that's never enough. The kind she feels when his eyes fall upon her like she's his answer to questions he never bothered asking.

The space growing between them allows her a moment to catch her breath and when she sneaks a look at him, he’s doing the same. He pulls his fur closer to his chest and part of her wishes to kiss each and every one of his scars. The thought makes her cheeks flush scarlet but with his taste still on her lips, she feels less wanton and more at ease. It's not the first time she's thought of him in this way, not by far, but before it was mostly innocent thoughts in the middle of the night, of his beard chafing against her thigh or his gambeson making a giant clunk against the floor of her chambers.

Daenerys moves to stand up and straightens out the creases in her dress for want of something to do.

When turning back to face him, his eyes meet hers with more emotion than she’s ever seen in a man before. There’s so much about him that confuses her, excites her, and scares her. So much about him that feels brand new, like being cleansed and seeing the world in technicolor. He gives her a small smile and his soft lips and deep voice are all she can think of.

Leaning down, she captures his lips in hers again, and it feels like coming home, like every inch of her is finally breathing right after years of drowning. Jon traces her lips with his smooth tongue, hand touching her hip, and mouth searing against hers. It’s equal parts sweet and intense, and she wonders how the duality of that is even possible, but then he’s muttering into her mouth and she pulls away only slightly, gaze fuzzy when she tries to search his face.

“Dany,” he murmurs when he kisses her again, and she grins into it, hand moving over his neck and loose curls. The name on his mouth feels right, like he should’ve been calling her that for ages.

_Gods_, she thinks, her mouth pressed to his, his tongue on the inside of her cheek. He breathes into her mouth, hand digging into her hip.

_“Īlē vēttan syt nyke,” _she says when she pulls away, sucking in a breath and closing her eyes. She waits a moment before looking at him again.

“I must go,” she breathes, face flushed, lips near swollen.

Jon nods but his eyes fix on her, his hand falling from her side back down to his bed.

Dany reluctantly makes her way to the door, turning back to find him lying down again as he should’ve been doing earlier. “Sleep well,” she gets out, her voice in disarray.

He turns toward her and she feels a flame running up her neck. “Don’t think I’ll be able to now.”

Their eyes meet and the twinkle in his eye is irresistible.

She smirks, hands clasped in front of her for balance. For some sense of stability against the swirl of emotions running through her.

With a turn of her heel, she retorts, “Try.”

**Author's Note:**

> High Valyrian translation of "you were made for me"


End file.
